TR: These are the good years for me and Barb. Our radio pulled in a station we'd never heard before and there was a man who sounded exactly like the late Liberace giving investment advice and thanks to him we invested in a company that rents bicycles over the Internet and the stocks have soared 480 percent in three days. We should have been happy. I was surprised the very next day to find Barb in a darkened room with a cold compress over her eyes -

SS: Oh Jim. Mother's Day always puts me in such a tailspin. I feel so guilty, wondering if I did the right things, did I nurture their early development - could there have been asbestos in those Halloween costumes - and what about all those frozen pizzaburgers I gave them? And the times I threatened them with violence? And remember how close they used to sit to the TV? Have you read those articles about radiation? Oh Jim. Motherhood is twenty years of sleeplessness followed by thirty years of guilt.

TR: You have to let go, honey. You can't torture yourself.

SS: And look - Debbie sent me a Mother's Day card.

TR: Well, that's nice.

SS: It says "Cordial good wishes on Mother's Day. Sincerely, Deborah Lundeen." And in parentheses: "Your daughter". Oh, Jim. Where did I go wrong?

TR: Honey, you can't live their lives for them. It's not your fault.

SS: I want to start over in another country, Jim. I want to move to Italy. It's such a beautiful language. We'll change our name to Lundini. We'll become more effusive. We'll lead a simple life in Tuscany and raise olives and I'll learn to marinate fish and we'll go for long walks through the vineyards and we'll be happy. Let's do it.

TR: Barb, what you need is a nice serving of ketchup. Ketchup has natural mellowing agents that help you face life's little disappointments with a smile. And natural endorphins that help combat feelings of utter inadequacy.

SS: You're so right, Jim.

TR: What do you say we whip up a delicious brunch. With plenty of ketchup.

RD (SINGS): These are the good years, in the golden sun,
A new day is dawning, a new life has begun,
The river flowing like ketchup on a bun.

Lovingly selected from the earliest archives of A Prairie Home Companion, this heirloom collection represents the music from earliest years of the now legendary show: 1974–1976. With songs and tunes from jazz pianist Butch Thompson, mandolin maestro Peter Ostroushko, Dakota Dave Hull and the first house band, The Powdermilk Biscuit Band (Adam Granger, Bob Douglas and Mary DuShane).